


all that you've thrown away

by thatworldinverted



Series: games you don't wanna play [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angry Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bloodplay, F/M, Hate Sex, M/M, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He walks, brushing his fingers down alley walls and across shop counters, painting them with his scent and letting it roll through town. If there's a fine film of come on them, well; only a few people will know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that you've thrown away

He comes home for Spring Break and screws the flavor of the week in the middle of the Preserve. 

Christmas, and he sends Derek a pair of filthy, come-striped boxers. Gift-wrapped, with a bow.

The next summer, he lets Peter fuck him in Derek's bed.

At school he can ignore it, the tar-pit rage slicked beneath the surface. He channels it into his course load, 22 credits a quarter, plus a supernatural extra-curricular or two on the side. Drinks some, gets high occasionally, fucks around enough to take the edge off. Finds a playmate or two who makes it hurt just the right way.

Just driving past the "Now entering Beacon Hills" sign is enough to get his brain buzzing. The blood-craving creature that lives in the back of his head wants to play.

He walks, brushing his fingers down alley walls and across shop counters, painting them with his scent and letting it roll through town. If there's a fine film of come on them, well; only a few people will know.

They never see each other, and that's just the way he likes it. Haven't spoken in two years, since his high school graduation. 

He doesn't think about graduation night. Ever.  
: : : 

_God, Derek, go fuck yourself, he shouts._

_He is way, way too drunk to let himself have this conversation._

_Derek’s eyes are vicious and he’s too close. Within arm’s reach is too close, tonight._

_Come on, Stiles. We both know that’s not what you want me to fuck, don’t we? I can smell it, how wet your cock is for me right now. You're fucking gagging for it._

: : : 

The pack doesn’t talk to him about Derek, or vice versa. He’d nearly taken Scott’s head off the one time they tried.

They should have mentioned this.

Jennifer Blake’s engagement ring catches the light and his vision washes red, pulse _throbbing_ in his temples. 

Derek’s head lifts, a bag of plums hanging limply from his fist, Jennifer chattering away next to him.

His own basket is full of groceries when he drops it and heads blindly out the door.

So that's how it is.

: : : 

_What the hell is your problem, asshole?_

_He's trembling, dizzy with adrenaline and tequila, and he doesn't even recognize his tone of voice. Cracked glass that cuts his tongue as he spits out the words._

_Tired of everyone else getting what you want, is that it, Derek?_

_He leans in and licks a slick, wet stripe up Derek's neck, ghosts words into his skin._

_Want your mark on me instead, don't you?_

: : :

Fishnet and spikes, sweat-licked hipbones on display, eyes smudged with liner- everyone at _Jungle_ can tell what's on his mind.

Good.

He loosens the white-knuckled grip in the back of his mind, and the creature roars to life. Throbs through his blood in time to the music, _howling_ for teeth and claws and the thick, choking pressure of a cock in his throat.

His hips roll, a fluid wave that runs up his spine, muscles sleek and flesh willing. Riding the beat like the thrusts of a warm body beneath him.

Hands catch his wrists, pulling him close, long lines pressed against him. He falls into it, wraps himself around the man and drops, slides his way back up a firm torso in a long, sweet tease.

He drops his head back onto a bare shoulder and it's just a flash, a glimpse in the corner of his eye, but it ratchets everything tight.

Red eyes spark in the corner of the club.

He feels his lips pull into a smirk and just lets it all go, nothing in his head but static and screams.

: : : 

_Too-sharp teeth hover over his jugular, hot breath panting out over his skin._

_Do it, Derek, fuck, come on, what the hell are you so fucking scared of?_

_The pause is longer than he's willing to wait. He closes his mouth around Derek's shoulder and digs deep._

_That's all it takes._

_Derek's fangs slam down and the pain arcs through him, lights him up like a signal fire. He hauls himself up, locks his thighs around Derek's waist as hot palms drag him against the bulge of Derek’s cock._

: : : 

He runs into her everywhere, all of a sudden.

Smiling at the bank teller. Checking out the Redbox when he gets his Slurpee fix. He picks up a part-time job at the library and she browses for _hours_. He tries to ignore the way she’s constantly, absently fiddling with the ring.

She crosses in front of his car and the urge to step on the gas rattles his breath in his chest.

He has to pull over, gasping into his steering wheel until his heartbeat jutters its way back to normal.

Which, of fucking course, is when he looks up and sees Derek staring at him from the glass window of the hardware store. 

He watches Derek watch him and welcomes the nasty sense of satisfaction that comes welling up. Thinks about sliding his hand into his jeans right here, cupping his dick, licking the flavor off his fingers. The idea of it has him giving a tiny, showy little whimper that only Derek can hear.

And hear it he does, if the state of the box he was holding is any indication. 

You break it, you bought it.

: : : 

_Shit, Derek, come on, give it to me, you fucker. Fuck me, now, or I find someone else who’s willing._

_The growl reverberates across his skin, crawls into his bones and settles there._

_Yeah, yeah, not such a big, bad alpha after all, can’t even fuck me, can you? You know who had me screaming for it? Peter, god, I could ride his cock for days, so good, fuck, love the marks he left on me, come on, Derek, Jesus, you can do better than that, can’t you?_

_Make me bleed for you. You want to taste it, don’t you? Leave your mark on me, cover me in your scent and your filth until everyone knows I’m yours._

_He runs with a wolf pack. He knows all about what does it for them._

_No sense in denying that it works for him, too._

_Shut up, Stiles, you filthy little cunt. Derek’s voice is a broken hiss in his ear, malicious and bitter. Is that what you want? Want me to fuck you until you finally shut your dirty hole?_

_Dry fingers stretch his ass and he screams as it sears through him. Doesn’t stop him from shoving back onto them and begging for more._

_The fingers twist and Derek chuckles, the ash and gravel sound of it only knotting him up tighter._

_Shut your trap, maybe, but not this, so fucking slutty for it, aren’t you? Spread your legs for anyone who wants your sorry, loose little ass, don’t you?_

_Someone like- ah, fuck, yeah- someone like you, you mean? If you ever get around to it, christ, just put your cock in me, you asshole-_

_Derek’s cock drives into him and his brain goes white._

: : : 

They come into the library together- apparently Derek reads now, Jesus Christ.

He makes an excuse to Sara, the librarian, and takes an early lunch, splayed out on a picnic table in the library’s tiny courtyard. He’s lying there, half-asleep, sun-warmed and pliant, when a shadow moves across his eyelids. There’s really only one person it could be.

Go away, Derek, he murmurs, suddenly so _tired_ of all of it. He just wants to rest, just for a little bit.

Just for a while, as the sun loosens the ball clenched tight in his chest and he can almost, almost relax. 

Seriously, Derek, just fuck off, okay? Let’s not do this right now. Not today.

The kiss is lush and soft and everything he _never, ever_ wants. Derek’s hands cup his face, little nudges coaxing him into place, fingers brushing along his jaw, his cheekbones. Derek’s tongue slips along his lips in these teasing, playful little darts that gentle the shrieking in his blood.

It’s a minute, maybe two, before he realizes that this must be how Derek kisses _her_.

He’s up and off the table in seconds, fingers digging into his palms because if he starts hitting right now he honestly doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop.

They stand there, staring, as he swallows and swallows and tries to make his throat work. There’s color high in Derek’s cheeks.

If he could get the words out, he thinks he’d be screaming.

Instead he turns on his heel and goes back inside just in time to help Mrs. Donaldson check out her stack of murder mysteries.

Jennifer Blake, thankfully, prefers the self-checkout.

: : : 

_He’s on his knees, ass in the air, face pushed into the sheets, sobbing for breath. Derek’s hand falls, thick and heavy, on his thighs, his ass, his balls. Claws curl into tender, blood-hot flesh, laying fine lines over finger-shaped welts._

_Pain edges his vision in a black haze, drops spots in front of his eyes._

_A tongue laps across his hole, slicks all the way down to where a cock ring holds him tight._

_Want it, don’t you, baby? Want to come all over yourself, roll around in the mess like a perfect, pretty little bitch?_

_Derek slicks four fingers into his hole, where he’s sloppy and stretched out, sticky with come._

_Sharp teeth snag the shell of his ear._

_Just ask me for it, that’s all you have to do. Let me hear you beg. Convince me that you deserve it._

_Derek’s free hand yanks his head back, pulls his body into a perfect arch. The bite at his neck paints fresh blood over his collarbone._

_He shakes his head frantically. Words have deserted him, and he needs, god, how he needs, but he’s not going to beg._

_Not to Derek._

_A sound works its way out of Derek’s chest, nasty and full of warning. The same growl he gives to enemies of the pack._

_Say please, Stiles, or I’ll make you say it._

: : : 

Nothing he does erases the sensation of Derek’s hands, gentle and sun-warmed, light on his cheeks.

And he tries. Repeatedly.

Gets high, gets fucked, and even when he’s out of his mind, sucking cock on a sticky bathroom floor, the hand on his head feels like Derek.

The entire way to Derek’s loft, he tells himself he’ll turn around at the next stop sign.

The next.

The- fuck it.

He parks in the darkest corner of the lot, where the streetlight doesn't begin to touch. Rolls his windows down _just_ enough.

He’s panting over his cock, sweat working its way between his shoulder blades, when he sees Derek slam out of the building.

The look on Derek’s face promises terrible, terrible things.

He tips his head back, hiding the smirk as he comes, sucking it off his fingers as Derek makes his way to the driver’s side door.

Derek yanks the door open, tense frustration in the lines of his shoulders. 

Did you decide you wanted a taste, then, he asks. He doesn't bother to be coy; it’s hard to achieve when your fingers are dripping in come. Instead his fingers hover near Derek’s lips and he watches with delight as Derek closes his eyes, takes a step back.

Stiles, no. We can’t-

He slips to his knees right there on the cracked cement of the parking lot.

Oh, _sweetie_ , I think we can.

: : : 

_He screams himself hoarse as the belt snaps across broken flesh. The metal edge bites, a sharp, bright note that only pulls him closer to the edge._

_He can’t, he can’t, he can’t._

_Derek grabs his jaw, wrenches him around. Pries his jaw open._

_Say it, Stiles. Say it and you can come. Say it or I fuck your throat until you’re choking on it._

_Tears bead along his lashes. Derek sucks them off his thumb, rubs the taste of them onto his lips._

_His hands are bound tight at the small of his back. Derek fucks his face like a toy, holds his chin and moves his whole body along with it. Messy, sloppy, lips cracked at the corner, dizzy on half-breaths of come-scented air._

_He feels himself falling, subsumed into the rolling press of Derek’s cock, the slick, bitter taste in his mouth, the smell that curls heavy around them._

_He’s covered in it, filled with the taste of salt and wolf, and it’s all, all he ever-_

_please-_

_please, Derek-_

_it slips out between one thrust and the next, out of his mouth and around Derek’s cock-_

_please, please, Derek, anything, please, let me come for you, please, I’ll be good, so good, please, Derek, please, let me, let me, please-_

: : : 

Derek doesn’t try to say no again.

They fuck in the Jeep, carpet burn on his palms and knees. In the front seat of Derek’s ridiculous, sporty Toyota.

Out in the Preserve, his tongue fluttering against Derek’s ass.

In the men’s bathroom at the library, his hands clamped around the top of the stall as he rides Derek’s cock.

Across the arm of his father’s couch.

On Derek’s bed, obliterating the floral perfume that lingers on the sheets. Derek takes his time, that day, spreads him out, eyes locked on his face. Stretches him wide and slick, fucks him with sweet, slow rolls of his hips that turn his bones molten. 

The next time Jennifer comes into the library, there’s a sign declaring that the self-checkout is temporarily out of order.

She leaves with a stack of books, a note tucked into the pile that she won’t see until she gets home.

_By the way, I think you should know..._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, love to my fabulous beta 1lostone and to my own personal cheerleader casualpahoehoe, who encourages me to write these things in the middle of the night. Blame them.
> 
> Title from "Dirty Little Secret," from The All-American Rejects.
> 
> Please note that the management does not endorse the multitude of bad choices both Derek and Stiles make in the course of this series. Be excellent to each other, lovelies.


End file.
